Take me far away

It was one of these days, on which red blood cell ES1202 felt like everything went down the drain, as if his life didn't have a real meaning. No meaning except for his daily work: to deliver oxygen and take the carbon dioxide for disposal to the lungs. From his first work day as an erythrocyte forth until the day of his death, his own disposal in the spleen. His designation. The only true reason for his existence. After having delivered yet another oxygen package to a cell, he took off his red hat for a minute and wiped away the sweat from his forehead, running his hand over his lightly curled, brown hair. Especially lately the days felt like as if they were running through his fingers like sand or water. Similar, monotonous days, empty like the blank pages of a completely new notebook. Since his childhood as a little erythroblast, these feeling were tormenting him regularly: as if he was searching for something that just couldn't be found and that nobody else knows about. A deeper meaning of his existence. And no matter how much he brooded over it, it always seemed like he would go back to where he started, without ever truly arriving anywhere. Of course he knew that his work was vital, because nothing worked without oxygen in this body. And not only in this one. Not a single breathing living thing could survive without it. But, nonetheless, there should be more to it than that. Or not? He hid these thoughts carefully in his soul, sealing them with a smile, so others couldn't see them. Anyone who knew him, considered him always a joyful, optimistic delivery man. No one ever had seen tears or an expression of dissatisfaction on his face. No one except for one cell. One day, having been on his way to the lungs, he had bumped into a leucocyte, a warrior of the immune system, when he wanted to turn around a corner. It was a neutrophil like he had never seen one before: with unusually dark hair, out of which protruded upwards a strange curl, and with an incredibly grimly expression on his face. A really unpleasant guy to be around, who constantly cursed and insulted him and other cells. A guy who avoided absolutely everyone and never showed a smile on his lips. After their collision in the truest sense of the word, they had wondrously met often, despite of the fact that several billion cells were living in that body and the possibility that two in particular saw each other again, was almost non-existent. But coincidence or not: as time passed and the more often he saw him, the erythrocite began to notice that this leucocyte named I-1703 was more than he let others see of himself. Much more. There was, for example, that one time when he, frowning, but not reluctantly at all, had helped a lost platelet to find his friends. Or that one when during a viral infection he jumped in front of a cell who had tripped and fallen down while running away, thus protecting him from the attack of an infected cell. But most of all, when he saved his, ES' life, when he was hurt by a streptococcus and about to be hemolyzed. Expecially after this last incident, ES1202 began to see the neutrophil in a totally different light. In that whole body he had never met a cell like him before. The only one who noticed that his typical smile was fake. "Stop with that damn fake smile already! It's disgusting to look at!" "What? But... how?" "Very simple. It's the look in your eyes." And now, every time he saw that white blood cell, his heart was pounding like crazy and he felt like breathing liquid oxygen. And judging by the light blush on his cheeks, I-1703 himself seemed to have similar feelings. The red blood cell couldn't imagine a life without the other one anymore. How he wished to fall asleep and wake up in a parallel world, another universe where except for them not a single soul would be found. But it seemed that I-1703 had to go through his own struggles as well. One day, the red blood cell realized that the other was also feeling like he didn't really belong in this world. As if there wasn't any room left for someone like him, because he, too, was different from the others. But unlike ES, he didn't try with all his might to fit in, instead choosing to distance himself from the other cells when he wasn't needed by anyone. It seemed like they were fighting a solitary, silent battle because of their otherness. A battle they couldn't win. A battle that looked impossible right from the beginning. "If we just could choose our path ourselves... then I would like to live in a world where time stands still to be with you forever." In another world, far far away. Together with this leucocyte who was the only one able to look into his soul. The only one he couldn't fool. The one who led him to the right path, every time he didn't know how and where to begin. Yes, paradoxically it was this pale leucocyte of all cells who filled the blank pages of his life with colors. Maybe now he finally found it, the deeper meaning of his life. He hoped so. The only thing he really begged for with all his heart was to not be wrong again, as he already suffered through far too many mistakes. ES1202 reached a blood vessel in the right upper arm and there he saw him again. His beloved leucocyte was sitting on a bench as if specifically waiting for him. And who knew, maybe he really was, because he stood up as soon as he saw the other one approaching him. And just like any other time during which ES was again plagued by doubts, I-1703 looked him grumpily as always, but also sympathetically in the eyes and held his hand. Took him far away. To a shelter in another dimension. Took all his fears and worries. Let him ascend and float. With him by his side, the erythrocyte forgot everything around him. Everything and everyone apart from this secretive and rude, but deep inside also incredibly caring and strong leucocyte. A cell full of contradictions. One that could hit him on the head first and then kiss him right after. And so they walked hand in hand through the vessel, absorbed in their own far away world and without noticing the stares of the other cells. One carrying a package with oxygen tanks under his arm and the other a sword on his belt, but both with a sincere little smile on their faces.